


The Burning Dark

by Neko-Made-A-Smut (Nekhs)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Bad end, Curse of Obedience, Dark Knight, Estrus, F/M, I'm Sorry, Imported from Tumblr, Mind Control, Miqo'te, NSFW, POV Female Character, Public Use, Sensory Deprivation, Torture, dark side, heat - Freeform, internalized slut shaming, miqo'te in heat, not safe for life, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 07:02:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6944602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekhs/pseuds/Neko-Made-A-Smut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ser Charibert reaches out to the Warrior of Light during a very sensitive time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Burning Dark

It had been a week since they'd captured her, a week of slowly building dread.

She knew what was coming, and there was no way to hold it back, to stop it from happening – she knew; she'd _tried._

_Still the same slut you always were._

"You're not real."

_Keep telling yourself that._

She wasn't afraid of pain. She'd hurt, even killed, more people than she could easily count. Hells, she'd killed all manner of beasts and even gods before: she was, after all, the Warrior of Light.

_Sure is doing you a fat lot of good now, isn't it, kitten?_

The silver-haired miqo'te who stood across from her was a perfect replica. Tan skin, slitted blue eyes, myriad scars – she was physically identical to E'lia. Even the pulsing, blood red on black crystal that was set into her skin – just above her heart – was a mark that 'Lia bore truly. When she'd realized they meant to take her alive, she'd done the magic, fusing the crystal into her body.

Removing it without killing her was an impossibility – so they fitted her with a thick collar, scribed with runes, to suppress her aetheric talents, instead.

_In short, I'm you._

"You're a hallucination, a lie."

 _Darkness made manifest._ She gestured vaguely, waving off the comment. _So, what are we going to do about our next big dip into the well of humiliation, hm? Let's hear it._

'Lia looked away. "I'm working on it," she muttered.

_Tick, tock._

The darkness dissipated a moment before he entered the room, leaving 'Lia alone with the monster.

"How are we today?"

Ser Charibert never stopped smiling, not in all the time she'd known him. He would smirk, or grin, in turn, but she'd never seen him upset, never seen him angry, though she'd tried to bait him out.

She folded her arms, looking away, pretending not to acknowledge him. She'd hold onto her pride for a few hours more.

"Not feeling talkative?" He made a soft 'tsk' noise. "I'm eager to try the latest method. Last session, it was a whimper."

He leaned in, voice playing against one of her ears. "I still wish to hear you scream."

It was a kind of sick game between them. She'd decided early that she would play mute, to wall herself off and remain unresponsive to his games. Rather than become discouraged, he took her silence as a personal challenge.

The first thing he'd done was to modify the collar.

Any command he spoke was one she was compelled to obey. In that sense, he'd already won.

But he picked his words oh, so carefully, never content to simply command her to break for him. That would be too easy, for both of them.

So the game continued.

"Stand."

She did, not wasting her strength on resisting his order. She'd need it all too soon.

She knew that.

"Legs spread." Not an order, a statement, though he meant it to be an order. The collar didn't force it – careless of him. She knew that would be his only mistake.

"Spread your legs."

He smirked as she obeyed the rephrased command.

"Fold your hands behind your back."

This, she did more grudgingly, as it presented her breasts more easily.

"I've been reading about your kind," he said conversationally, inspecting her smallish chest with an expression that neared bored disinterest, his lips still curved in a neutral smile. "When is your next mating cycle, I wonder?"

He poured a honey-colored oil on his bare hands, speaking casually, but damn him, he was watching her face when the bottom dropped out of her gut, because he knew.

That unholy anticipation on his features could mean nothing good for her.

"I would ask you how it feels," he murmured, a seductive purr to his tone. Gods, this close, he smelled good, the thought feeling abhorrent to her. She knew he would be the first one to take her.

She just _knew_.

His fingers skimmed across her breasts then, massaging them tenderly, caressing her nipples as she pretended not to notice how hard they were, how much she liked his touch.

"Rumor has it that a miqo'te in heat is _insatiable_. His fingers trailed lower, electricity following in their wake. "One story tells of a Limsan deckhand strung up belowdecks for a week. Each male on board took a turn with her, every day, and still she begged for more." His voice was low and warm, as he pressed one finger, then another, between her folds, rubbing gently, yet firmly.

The oil felt warm on her skin. His touch lit a fire in her gut, and her breath hitched.

"Would you enjoy that, I wonder? To be a public _slut_ , free for anyone to use as they saw fit? Men spilling their seed in you, _on_ you, again and again?" He worked her in lazy strokes, and she swayed on her feet. "I believe you would." He removed his hand, seeming to know just how close she'd been.

"Today it will be the whip," he announced, as though she weren't teetering on the brink of orgasm. As though he were not the cause.

He wiped his hands off with a cloth hanging at his belt, then reached for his whip.

As always, his strikes were precise, though he didn't elicit the scream he desired, not today.

No – when the whip snapped up, licking between her legs and cracking against her clit, she gave him a whore's _moan_.

 

* * *

 

_Wakey, wakey, cum slut!_

'Lia stirred, groggy, on her cot. Her body felt over-warm, kissed by fire. Her lips throbbed between her legs, her sex already dripping with need. Her hand dipped unthinkingly between her thighs, rubbing gently before she had fully woken from her slumber.

This was already shaping up to be a rough cycle, even ignoring her circumstances.

_That's it, slut, moan a little louder so Daddy Charibert can hear you._

She grimaced, pulling her hand away from her sex. "You always do know what to say to cheer me up," she muttered, looking to her double in a kind of disgust.

_Don't look at me like that. **You** didn't act, now **we're** spending a heat in a torture chamber. This is all on you, slut._

"Fuck off – "

Ser Charibert entered the room – how had they missed his arrival?

The darkness evaporated in a puff of inky smoke, and he walked through the space she'd occupied.

He looked pointedly between her legs, taking in the sight of her raw need.

Gods help her. He _grinned._

"Drink this." He held out a vial of pink liquid. It looked – bubbly. "It's a potent aphrodisiac – you do want to be ready for your big day, yes?"

She tried to resist, fire burning every nerve of her body as she strained against his command with fraying willpower, until at last, she relented and drank the potion.

Surprise lit her expression, as she fell limp, helpless.

She was awake, aware, as he cheerfully blindfolded her. She could feel him gently stuff her ears and mouth with soft cotton, not enough to make any part of her ache, but enough she couldn't hear or even taste anything, really.

He swaddled her carefully in soft cloth, wrapping her like so much expensive pottery for transport. When he finished, she felt adrift in a sea of insensate fluff.

Sometime after that, the potion's primary effect wore off, leaving her fully aware that she couldn't move for other reasons. Her muscles responded vaguely, informing her of a distant pressure. It was soft and warm, she thought she might be in some kind of a box – a coffin, maybe.

He hadn't lied, per se, that was the sick part.

The heat pooled in her groin, building faster and riding harder than it should have, even given her cycle. She became desperately, agonizingly aware of all the many ways her body was NOT being stimulated.

The darkness spoke in her mind, describing the situation with a kind of awed horror in her voice:

_This is bad._

 

* * *

 

The shuddering mess he pulled from the box three days later was no longer a Warrior of anything.

She was little more than a mindless doll, shattered by her desire.

Branding her stomach with a rune for infertility, he took her once, but once wasn't enough for her. Once would never be enough for her.  

Not that he cared.  

Truly broken, she held no interest for him any longer. He gave her to his more sadistic brothers in the Ward, let each who wanted a turn have it.

When they'd taken their fill, she was passed about the congregation, a gift to the knights, and then to the knights in training, and then to the servants and any who wanted a taste of the southern deserts.

Finally, she came to her senses. By that time, she'd been passed off to the church.

Her mind never quite recovered from the ordeal – probably in part because she woke to find herself the test subject for the next generation of young inquisitors.

**Author's Note:**

> "Hurt me," begs the masochist.
> 
> The sadist replies, "No."


End file.
